


It Should've Been Me

by Cybra



Category: Ben 10 Series
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Gen, Secret of the Omnitrix, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybra/pseuds/Cybra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the universe fights over his instrument of peace, Azmuth loses all hope and decides to make his lab on Xenon his tomb in order to pay for everything he's done in the name of trying to help. However, when a boy tears through his front door with his Omnitrix about to destroy the universe, things start to change. (Set before, during, and after <i>Secret of the Omnitrix</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Should've Been Me

**Author's Note:**

> A character piece on Azmuth that I wrote while I was bummed out. It was very cathartic. Thanks to [lightning-bird](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lightning_bird/pseuds/lightning_bird) for help with the title. Also, according to Derrick J. Wyatt, _Destroy All Aliens_ is considered to be canon and the reason Azmuth’s father is younger than him is due to Azmuth transferring his mind into a clone. This takes place before that happens.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _Ben 10_ belongs to Cartoon Network. Some of the dialogue is directly quoted from the TV movie _Secret of the Omnitrix_ , and all credit for it goes to the writers.

“No.  That’s not what it’s for,” Azmuth murmured brokenly, watching races fight over what they called the greatest weapon in the universe:

His Omnitrix.

It wasn’t a weapon.  It was never supposed to _be_ a weapon.  However, that’s all the sentient species of the universe saw in it: weapons potential.  His gift, his _apology_ for everything he’d done while trying to make things better and enhance everyone’s understanding of how the universe worked had turned out to be the greatest mistake of them all.

People were killing one another trying to possess something he’d created for universal understanding, not bloodshed.  The very purpose of his greatest creation, centuries of hard work, had been warped and reduced to this.

He fell to his knees in the middle of the lab, a sob wrenching itself free from his chest.  Followed by another.  And then another.

He slammed his fist down on the floor of his lab as he screamed wordlessly.  What good was the greatest intellect in the galaxy if everything he tried to do for the good of others only succeeded in making things _worse?!_

He pounded his fist over and over, uncaring of how he managed to split open his hand, blood dripping free.  So much of it had been spilled over his devices.  He might as well add his own to the mix.  It was only fitting that it make hands already covered in blood slick with it.  He only stopped when his hand went numb from the repeated impacts, collapsing onto his side as his limbs trembled and refused to bear his weight anymore.

When he’d left and destroyed the lab where he’d created Ascalon, he gave up his choice over what happened to him to the universe and chance:  He’d randomized the coordinates for the auto-pilot and decided that no matter where they led—be it a planet or certain death—he wouldn’t change course.  That had brought him to Xenon, by chance missing a black hole.   A more religious being would’ve seen it as a sign that he was supposed to live.

If the universe was a sentient being, Azmuth would’ve sworn that it had let him live just to have the opportunity to continue to beat him down, to mock him for his so-called “gift” of being the most intelligent being in five galaxies.

As he laid there on the floor of his lab, he wanted nothing more than to destroy the very intellect that others praised him for.  After all, look where all his genius had led him: Alone just as he always had been only this time on a forgotten planet in the middle of nowhere surrounded by an artificial darkness.  The only contact he had with the rest of the universe were received open broadcasts of news and current events along with the supply drones that came every two weeks with the goods he’d requisitioned.  Would anyone even notice if those requests and payments stopped?

Would anyone even _care?_

Well, the people who counted on his payments probably would, but he himself was a faceless being in a biosuit to them.  His father?  No, not likely after the way he’d simply packed up and left Galvan Prime when he’d first caught a glimpse of the primal forces of the universe and thought to try and obtain understanding through control.  His father may not have had the intellect of his son, but even he could see a lost cause when presented with one.

Azmuth of the Galvan had disappeared.  Azmuth, creator of the greatest weapon in the universe, had taken his place without even realizing it.

So much for committing himself to peaceful science.

The tears didn’t stop through all of this nor did they cease when he looked back over his wasted life.  Zennith.  Ascalon.  Sir George and his Forever Knights.  The Omnitrix.  Dozens upon dozens of other mistakes which had resulted in nothing but utter _misery_ for himself and the rest of the universe.  He didn’t even know why he’d tried anymore.  It should’ve been obvious that nothing good would _ever_ come of his meddling.  He was beneath contempt yet somehow still heralded as the most brilliant scientific mind in the galaxy.

As brilliant as the explosion that took the Incursean homeworld, he'd say.

Despair as black as the zone of darkness surrounding Xenon, as all-encompassing as the black hole he’d nearly flown straight into, surged up to swallow the tiny glimmer of hope that maybe _this time_ he’d get it right, that this time he wouldn’t screw things up for the rest of the universe and his inventions would actually _help_ people, that this time his vast genius could finally be put to good use and justify its existence in the first place.

Centuries upon millennia of repeated mistakes that cost lives not his own only proved otherwise.  He’d made a poor scientist indeed, ignoring the ugly results of each attempt and continuing in a mad quest to achieve a different outcome.

Such haunting realizations dried his tears…or perhaps it was just the fact he’d become too dehydrated to shed any more.  At this point, either possibility was a valid one.

He forced himself back up onto trembling knees, cradling his injured hand.  He should bandage it so it didn’t get infected.  The last thing he wanted to do was lose it.

He snorted, chuckling darkly at these thoughts.  He wanted to erase himself from the history of the universe, put things back on track to the way they should’ve been without his meddling, and here he was concerned about an overall minor injury in the grand scheme of things.

He got to his feet, swaying dangerously at the light-headed feeling of dehydration.  Also, when had been the last time he’d eaten?  He couldn’t remember, so wrapped-up in each report of the squabble over his device.

Oh, well.  It didn’t matter now.  None of it did.

He staggered over to the thick doors separating the lab from the rest of Xenon.  He could easily imagine the feral Florauna topside waiting eagerly for the little morsel that had evaded them for so long.  He wondered what they’d think of Galvan.  Humans, like the man he’d intended to give the device to, were considered a delicacy in certain parts of the galaxy.  He wondered how he’d rank.  Perhaps he’d make a decent enough snack if nothing else.

He stared at the doors, raising his bleeding hand to the control panel with the intent of opening them and leaving his lab behind him forever.  Only unlike the last time he left his workspace, he wasn’t going to another.  Once he was through these doors, all that was left was the tunnel leading to the surface.

His fingers hesitated over the controls.

He gritted his teeth, mentally straining to overcome that instinct to survive.  What was left for him anyway?  To sit here and rot alone in the dark?

His hand dropped to his side as the thought occurred to him.  He turned his back on the door, slumping against it before sliding down to the ground.  Of course.  What more fitting end was there than to live and suffer alone for his sins against the universe?  A being such as he shouldn’t be allowed to have such an easy way out.

“All right.  You win,” he whispered hoarsely to the silence.

Once he could find the strength to, he’d go fix his hand and start packing up everything in his lab along with shutting down the branches leading out from the main section beneath the mesa for good.  No need to tempt himself with the delusion that he might one day come up with something better to fix everything he’d done.

How fitting that this place was underground.  It’d make a fine tomb.

* * *

He didn’t know how the bottle of liquor got into his supply shipment, but it’d proven useful when _hope_ tried to rear its ugly head afterwards. 

He’d never thought much of alcohol or its various equivalents around the galaxy.  Most of Galvan Prime didn’t imbibe such substances since they damaged the mind and body unnecessarily.  They weren’t outright _forbidden_ but the practice of attempting to drown oneself in them was frowned on.

Considering everything he’d done and everything he _could_ do, Azmuth felt it was the significantly lesser of two evils.

Because sometimes he’d look around the lab and get _ideas._   While most of the equipment had been stowed away or shut off, the temptation was still there:  That maybe he could design and build something that _couldn’t_ be turned into a means of destruction.  He’d see images in his head of such devices and his fingers would itch with the urge to go to work.

Before that shipment, he’d simply huddled down in a corner, wrapping his arms around his legs and trembling as he waited for the urge to pass.  Nothing good would come of him making another attempt.  He’d only create an even bigger mess that he could never hope to clean up.

The trend continued even afterwards but at least it’d been easier to hold himself back.  The bottle and its contents had been designed for a much larger race, so it took very little of the stuff to render the smartest being in five galaxies utterly insensible.  Thoughts muddled and limbs entirely uncoordinated, he _couldn’t_ give in to the urge to invent.  After all, it was easy to maintain control over his inventive streak when he couldn’t even properly control his own gait.  The sickness he felt when the effects wore off was a blessing in and of itself because as terrible as he felt, no one else suffered for it.

For the most part, however, the bottle sat untouched in a supply closet.  Drinking didn’t make Azmuth feel any better like some beings claimed it did for them.  If anything, it made him feel worse since the black emotions that had led to his resolution to bury himself on Xenon intensified a hundredfold.  The only benefit that came of it was the lack of coordination, and he only needed that on rare occasions.

It was on one of those occasions that things would finally change after so many months, possibly years, after Azmuth’s decision to stay.  (He didn’t even try to mark the days, each one blending into the next as he simply existed while waiting until the universe tired of such a boring plaything and rid itself of him.  Only the supply drops marked the passage of time, and he never bothered to count them.)

An alert from the main computer made him pause mid-drink in the middle of the latest binge to drown out the hope that had wiggled its way into his dreams.  Downing the rest of it in a gulp, he set the glass he used down to refill it using the mechanism he’d devised for such a purpose.  (The only thing he’d let himself build since it helped make sure he wouldn’t build anything with more destructive consequences.)  Picking up his refilled glass, he walked (more like stumbled) leisurely over to the computer, sitting himself down in the chair and staring dumbly at an alert.  It was probably important, but he could barely muster up the capacity to care.

He took another gulp of the liquor, grimacing at the way it burned the whole way down to settle itself in the pool of fire that had taken up residence in his stomach.  It’d been a particularly bad day as nothing seemed to silence that creative itch that had caused so much mayhem in the past.  He’d gone to his last resort so much sooner because of it, and he was going to pay for the quantity he’d consumed in no time.

Taking a sloppy sip to chase down a burp, he reached out to tap the control to view the alert, missing the button several times in the attempt.  He chuckled at his own failures.  At least they meant the ideas still lurking just beyond the haze couldn’t use him to make them a reality.

The screen obediently showed a timer, words that Azmuth couldn’t initially read hovering above it.  Setting down his drink, he rubbed at his eyes, giving his head a shake to try and clear some of the fog, only just enough to focus on what was happening.  Squinting his eyes, he finally managed to make out what it was saying:

SELF-DESTRUCT MODE ACTIVATED

He leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the armrest.  Oh, was _that_ all?  Whatever idiot had managed to obtain the Omnitrix had triggered its self-destruct mechanism.  Well, it wouldn’t be too long before it blew up in its unfortunate owner’s face and there’d be one less device of Azmuth’s mucking up the universe.  Really, he should track that person down and thank them for their assistance.

Nah.  Too much effort.  Plus it risked exposure to the rest of the universe which might make him care enough to give in to the urge to try again.

He turned his attention back to the countdown.  How long before he could raise a toast to the end of his greatest abomination?

He started to run the calculations, converting the time remaining until detonation to how big of a charge that was building up and, finally, into just how much real estate would be wiped off the map.  Alcohol-soaked as his brain was, it took considerably more time to do so since every hiccup and burp caused him to lose his place and have to start over.  More than once he even _forgot_ what his calculations were for until his bleary vision would clear just enough for him to read the screen and remember what he’d been trying to do.  He leaned forward as if being closer to the screen would help him reach the answer.  After several attempts, he did solve the necessary equations which earned a triumphant gulp from the glass before setting it down as he leaned back into his seat and allowed his inebriated mind to fully process the result.

... _Oh._   How _appropriate._

The countdown jumped as whoever possessed the Omnitrix likely used it, increasing the charge exponentially and shortening the time left to detonate.

Azmuth slumped over to one side, putting his chin in his hand.  He used his free hand to rub at his eyes again as a dark laugh escaped him.  He’d regretted not having a remote detonating mechanism in place when the earliest reports of the chaos his intended instrument of peace had riled up came in.  Of course, that also meant he didn’t have a way of remotely _de_ activating the self-destruct either.

He picked up his glass again, hiccupping more as his laughter became hysterical.  He lifted it up to the countdown.

“To thuh en’ uv thuh universh!”

* * *

There was something oddly liberating in the fact that the end was coming.  True, the deaths of trillions upon trillions of beings were now on his hands but at least none of them would know what was happening up until the last moment.  Not even Azmuth would survive the detonation of his creation which meant that he wouldn’t have to mourn and stew in his own guilt any longer.  The end of reality was upon them.  What did it matter anyway?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped so lightly around the lab, the countdown a constant reminder that it would all be over soon.  His sole regret was that he wouldn’t get to see how the universe that came into existence afterwards would turn out.  The regret was squashed almost as soon as it came into being because with it came the realization that he wouldn’t be around to mess it up.

His little device was doing everyone a multitude of favors when looked at from that perspective.

After learning what was happening, he’d celebrated, going so far as to drink himself into unconsciousness in his revelry.  He’d been ludicrously sick, of course, but it had been worth it.

The worst part of all this was the waiting.  Not that he had to wait _long,_ of course.  Whoever had the Omnitrix kept using it despite it getting ready to blow up.  Each time shortened the countdown that much more.

During that time, he’d started to look past his own guilt and realized something that had never occurred to him before:  He wasn’t entirely to blame.  Oh, Ascalon’s creation was all him, no doubt, and Zennith had been right in telling him that the consequences for forging it would be dire.  Giving it to a human to stop a trans-dimensional threat had ultimately led to the creation of a group of humans obsessed with destroying all non-humans.  There was no one to blame for all that but himself.  However, the failure of the Omnitrix wasn’t.  The ability to understand one another by literally walking a mile in another species’ shoes, and everyone had only seen the weapons potential.  How was that _his_ fault?  His device was meant for _peace,_ but it seemed that the peoples of this universe couldn’t see anything but new ways to kill one another.  No matter what he’d built, they would’ve found a way to twist it for war.

Wiping the slate clean, letting it all start from scratch would make way for a new universe with people who might be less-inclined to tear each other apart.

So what if he never saw it?  He could at least take pleasure in knowing that there would be fewer fools in it, especially not the biggest fool of them all: the so-called smartest being in five galaxies.

The computer started beeping, and Azmuth turned his attention to it, eyes widening as he read the message.  He rushed over, adjusting the sensors and bringing up a map.

“You can’t.  You _can’t!”_   He gripped the sides of his head.  “Why _now?!”_

His Omnitrix had reached the edge of the zone of darkness and was threading its way through the debris field.

“Leave me alone!” he screamed at the display, desperate panic overriding everything else.

But the indicator continued on, undaunted.

He’d been found at last.

* * *

A child.  His greatest and most terrible creation had ended up on the wrist of a _child?!_

He stared blankly via the cameras at the boy and his companions making their way towards the entrance to the tunnel.  He sarcastically wished them luck.  The Florauna tended to grow the thickest there as if each generation hoped they’d be able to sample the rare delicacy of the Galvan that dwelled underground.

Still, he’d never considered that his device might end up on a child.

He’d specifically coded the DNA of Max Tennyson, the greatest Plumber in the galaxy, into the Omnitrix, instructing it to latch on and bind to him at the first opportunity.  After all, if anyone would be able to use his device as he’d intended, it’d be a Plumber of such integrity, right?  So how had the child gotten it?

He activated scanners to read the DNA signatures of his uninvited guests, growling as it confirmed his suspicions as to the identity of one of them: Myaxx.  No wonder they’d gotten here so quickly.

“This is what I get for hiring an assistant, I suppose,” he grumbled.

The boy’s DNA pattern showed itself to be a derivative of Tennyson’s.  The girl’s as well.  Judging from the variances, they were the human’s grandchildren.  The Omnitrix must’ve locked on to the similarities before doing a full binding.

Wonderful.  He could add “assisting in the weaponization of a child” to his list of crimes.

He settled back in his seat, drumming his fingers on the armrest.  What to do?  His ship had crash-landed here centuries ago, and he'd long since scavenged what was left for parts.  There was nowhere to run.  If they made it to the tunnel, all that would be left would be his front door.  Myaxx didn’t have the code to get in (him having changed it after she’d left), but the lab’s entrance wasn’t indestructible.

He walked briskly over to the sealed doors, punching in the codes to activate the long-unused defense grid.  There.  That should discourage even the Petrosapien from trying to break down his last defense.

_“It should’ve been me!”_

He whirled about at the cry blasted over his speakers.  It sliced through the silence after the Florauna had receded while taking one of the unlucky child’s company as a prize, the sound piercing the Galvan's heart.

How many times had he thought that?  How many times had he screamed at the universe in his less-lucid moments that every death that had been the result of his work should’ve been him?  To hear those words coming from a mere _boy..._

“No,” he said softly, watching the boy in Tetramand form beat the wall and the equipment there. “It should’ve been me.  A long time ago.

“I am so sorry.”

Part of him wasn’t surprised when what remained of the group reached the tunnel.  Knowing the potential confrontation to come, he took a deep breath to steel himself and climb into his biosuit.  Myaxx had never been allowed to see her boss’s true face.  He didn’t intend to change that now.

The computer alerted him to the fireball trap being triggered.  The Omnitrix would survive such an attack, but the wielder...

Approaching the door and opening the communication system leading to the outside world, he saw that the child had survived, likely due to the Petrosapien that held him.   He took another deep breath and snarled, “The Omnitrix!  What are you doing with my Omnitrix?!”

* * *

Why…?

Azmuth watched the battle, hiding behind the wall of crystal the Petrosapien had created.  Or, more specifically, he watched the boy.  The universe had mere minutes left now, yet the boy just kept _fighting._

He’d thought that it was because of whatever programming this Ben Tennyson had received from whoever taught him how to fight.  However, that hypothesis had been thrown out the window with a brief exchange right when it had started:

_“Why do you continue to defend the Omnitrix when it’s hopeless?  I do not understand.”_

_“That’s because the only thing you think about is yourself!  Now step off!  I’ve got a world to save!”_

Saving people.  The universe was on the brink of destruction, and the child’s only thought was to _save_ people who were already as good as dead?

What bizarre logic was that?

The smartest being in five galaxies, and he couldn’t understand it.  What was it that made this boy keep fighting, keep protecting the Omnitrix and Azmuth himself?  The universe wasn’t all that great a place to live.  This fight was meaningless.  Handing both over to Vilgax wouldn’t have made any difference since Azmuth wouldn’t just tell him how to deactivate the self-destruct mechanism.  The most the Galvan had to look forward to in that scenario would be the agony of Vilgax’s attempts to torture the answers out of him before the universe ended.  A fitting end to a wasted existence.

And yet...

The blast that came from the Omnitrix as the child removed the containment device overloaded all the droids and sent Vilgax and his pet over the side of the mesa.  From the way Ben hit the dirt, it was obvious that he hadn’t been unaffected by it.  The kid had to have known that removing the device would mean he’d suffer the backlash from the energy build-up.

Yet he’d still done it.

The universe couldn’t possibly have enough goodness left in it to justify going through that sort of pain while fighting what was ultimately a losing battle…could it?

Had Azmuth been wrong?  Had he been so blinded by the darkness he’d seen everywhere that he’d missed the little points of light like this child?  Was there hope for this universe after all?  Or was Ben Tennyson simply an aberration due to being too young to know any better?

_“Sometimes you have to see the good in people and not just be a selfish jerk!”_

His feet moved of their own accord as he raced towards the boy, his mind reeling.  He hopped up onto the child’s knee, the Omnitrix flashing as the final seconds ticked down.

“I’m still not sure the universe is worth saving, but while I think about it…”

He deactivated the core and removed it, hopping away back towards safety.

The rumbling of even larger droids climbing up the sides of the mesa made him freeze and turn to face the threat on reflex.

“It’s over, Vilgax!” Ben shouted, displaying the core-less Omnitrix. “The watch is deactivated!  It’s useless now!”

“But the creator of the Omnitrix is not.”  Vilgax pointed at Azmuth.  “You will build me an even _more_ powerful device!”

He started running, carrying the damaged and deactivated core with him as the battle resumed.  One thought dominated his thoughts: slag the core.  If he slagged it, the Omnitrix was useless…unless someone managed to remake the core.  Not that anyone but him would know _how_ since he hadn’t allowed Myaxx to work on that portion of it.

…Though once Vilgax got his claws on him, he might obtain the knowledge to after torturing Azmuth endlessly.

_‘I did not think this through…’_

New plan: Slag the core, destroy the lab’s records for good measure, and do what he’d tried to do ages ago.  He’d lived a long enough life.  The need to keep a means of destroying everything out of Vilgax’s hands should make the attempt easier this time.

He raced to his lab where he set the core down on a table.  His fingers hovered over the controls necessary to destroy the core safely...

An explosion from outside pulled his attention back towards the entrance he’d used.  He felt sick as a thought occurred to him:

His plan would keep the Omnitrix away from anyone who’d use it for evil ends both now and in the future, but at what _cost?_

His concerns didn’t lie with Myaxx, the Petrosapien, or even the little girl who’d showed up with the Protost.  True, they fought for the same things, but he found himself focusing on the boy who’d refused to give up even when the creator of the Omnitrix said that the universe wasn’t worth saving.  That little spark, so small in the grand scheme of things, somehow shined so bright.  He couldn’t let it get snuffed out.

That left only one option.

“I hope I don't regret this, too…” he muttered, clever fingers going to work.

* * *

“Where do you want to go?”

Myaxx looked at him with open confusion as Azmuth piloted their makeshift ship away from Xenon.  “Thought you were gonna set up shop somewhere and take me back as your assistant.”

“I changed my mind.  I’m dropping you off wherever you want to go, and we’ll never have to cross paths again,” he stated flatly. “Now where do you want me to dump you out?”

“What brought this on?”

Azmuth was quiet for a moment before narrowing his eyes and snarling at her, “You know, I could just open the airlock and kick you out right now.  I’m _trying_ to be generous.”

She held up her hands in surrender, knowing full-well what he was capable of.  After all, he’d built a device that could blow up the universe.  As much as she groused about how he treated her, he wasn’t deliberately malicious as a general rule though he would make a terrible foe if riled up enough.

And right now with his frazzled nerves, he himself wasn’t sure if he’d hold back from carrying out his threat.

“Fine.  I get it.”  She gave him the coordinates which he plugged into the computer to plot a course.

“We should get there in about fifteen minutes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “Just make a hyperspace jump now.”

“There’s a black hole between us and that planet that we need to get around first,” Azmuth said sourly. “Unless you want to warp right into it…”

Myaxx grumbled and walked away to find herself a place to sit.

The Galvan turned his attention back to his navigation screens, looking at the black hole he’d narrowly avoided when he’d dared the universe to kill him.  Then he focused once more on navigating around it.

“Kinda surprised at you though.”

He gritted his teeth at Myaxx’s voice, trying to ignore her.

“I figured you would slag the core, not fix it.  Definitely didn’t think you’d let that kid keep the Omnitrix.”

His hands tightened on the controls, the last of his nerves fraying.

“What happened back there?”

 ** _“None of your business!”_** he roared, whipping around to give her the nastiest glare he could muster. “You just sit there, and if I hear one more word out of you, I’m changing our course to head straight into the black hole!”

“And kill yourself, too?” Myaxx snorted in challenge. “You wouldn’t dare.”

 _“Try me,”_ he hissed.

She opened her mouth, obviously about to retort, but something in his expression seemed to make her change her mind.  Perhaps she saw just how much he actually loathed himself and would welcome the excuse to correct the navigational mistake all those centuries ago.

 _‘Give me a reason,’_ he mentally dared. _‘Just one.’_

She crossed her arms and looked away.

Satisfied that she wasn’t going to say anything else, he turned back to the matter at hand.  He passed a little closer to the black hole than what was considered safe, keeping his mind occupied with the calculations necessary to stay out of the point of no return.  After that, it was a quick hyperspace jump to pull into orbit around the planet before landing in an open area.

He didn’t look at Myaxx, simply opening the airlock for her to leave.  He didn’t bother saying goodbye.  There was no point.

He heard her get up and walk to the exit before her footsteps suddenly stopped.

Blinking in surprise, he looked over his shoulder to see that she was partially facing him, obviously seeing his defeated posture.

“Y’know, you could stay here if you really wanted,” Myaxx told him. “It’s not as empty as Xenon but nobody asks questions here.  It’s said to be a good place to start over.”

“Maybe I’ll come back here,” he said though he honestly doubted it, “but there’s something I need to take care of before I make a decision.”

She didn’t look convinced, the pair watching each other in silence before she turned away.  “…Take care of yourself, boss.”

“……You, too.”

She left the ship, the airlock sealing shut behind her with a sense of finality.

He sat there for several minutes, looking down at his trembling hands.  Yes, there was one more thing he had to take care of before he figured out what to do next, but…could he?

With deliberate slowness to prevent his quaking fingers from accidentally blowing up the engines or something, he took off, laying in a course for Galvan Prime.

* * *

His ship received major attention from the members of his species that saw him land.  They marveled at the transport he’d put together on such short notice.  Some of the ones who approached him he recognized.  Most everyone else were strangers.  All of them seemed happy that their race’s prodigal son had returned.

He said nothing to them, offering no explanations of where he’d been or what he’d seen.  Instead, he kept walking, heading towards one specific little place off the beaten path, the place where everything had started: his family home.

By the time he reached it, he was once again alone.  His fellow Galvan might not have been as smart as him, but they knew when to give someone their privacy despite the burning curiosity they were undoubtedly feeling.  He was grateful for that as he raised his hand to the door controls, the key code he’d used for centuries to open this very door jumping to the forefront of his mind after not using it for thousands of years.

He stopped, fingers poised over the keypad.  No.  This place wasn’t home anymore.  It couldn’t be after everything that had happened.  Coming here was a mistake.  He’d find nothing of what he sought here.

What was he looking for anyway?

He stared at the door separating him from the place he’d once called home.  His hand moved away from the keypad to touch the worn-down metal.  There was the nick from when he lost control of his hoverboard and it’d flown straight into the door when he’d been learning to ride it.  To the left of the door was the crack from an explosion when one of his father’s devices had blown up in his face, his father constantly claiming he’d fix it though he never did.  Each little imperfection told a story from the childhood of someone who’d been born with a mind surpassing everyone else’s in multiple galaxies.

He didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish coming here.  Meeting Ben Tennyson and seeing how the boy valued his family had prompted the visit, but he’d had no clear goal in mind.  Had he planned to reconcile with his father?  Or had he just hoped he’d find something here to help him find Azmuth of the Galvan again?

He turned away, intending to go.  He’d lingered too long.  Eventually, someone was going to call his father to let him know about the stranger outside his door.  The last thing he wanted to do was face the older Galvan’s disapproval.  Instead, he walked away…

…only to pause as the door behind him opened and a voice called, “Azmuth?”

He froze.

“Is that really you?”  The source of the voice hurried up behind him, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around.

Azmuth cast his gaze downwards, unable to look his father in the face.  “…Hi, Dad.”

He’d meant to say something more formal, but the familiar terms rolled off his tongue before he could stop them.

He stiffened as he found himself wrapped in a tight hug before being led inside the home, his father mutely guiding him along.  Perhaps the older Galvan simply wanted some privacy for the rage that was sure to come.

Once they were inside, his father scolded, “Look at you.  You haven’t been taking care of yourself at all, have you?”

Azmuth lifted his head slightly to stare at his father.

“You got your great-grandfather’s whiskers, I see,” the older Galvan said with a soft smile. “I can hardly believe how you’ve grown.”

He continued staring at the other Galvan, wondering how he could speak so warmly after everything he’d put him through.  How could his father look at this broken being before him and still see his son?

Arms wrapped around him tightly again.  “Welcome home.”

Being held in his father’s arms despite everything he’d done was something he hadn’t anticipated.  He’d expected yelling and ultimately getting tossed off the property with strict orders to never return.  After all, hadn’t he basically told his family that his inventions were more important than them when he’d first left millennia ago?  Coming back with his proverbial tail between his legs should’ve been met with scathing derision and rejection.

“Azmuth?  Say something.”

How to put into words everything he’d felt up to and including this moment?  How to explain just how bad the damage he’d inflicted on himself was?  What could he say to make his father understand how much he hated the being he saw in the mirror?

“I…I was wondering…if y-you could use an assistant,” he stuttered, closing his eyes and bowing his head.

His father ended the hug and took him by the shoulders, holding him some distance away.  “What?”

“I have…significant experience…in robotics, genetic manipulation, sub-quantum-level mathematics…” he continued, still not looking at the other Galvan.

He kept rattling off what he knew, breath hitching every few words as he fought back the urge to sob and cling to the being who used to always know what to say or do when he’d been overwhelmed by adults coming to _him_ for help with their work and hurt by how the other Galvans his age had treated him with respect but left him out of their activities as if expecting that someone of his intellect wouldn’t want to waste his time with them.  Even on Galvan Prime, he’d always stood apart from everyone due to an intelligence so powerful that he’d been offered a position on the council the very minute he came of age, completely unprecedented in the history of his species, due to his expertise in so many fields making him an ideal candidate to help lead the Galvan technocracy.  In his mind, leaving to go off on his own had been a logical choice since it shouldn’t have been any different than staying aside from some breathing room and desperately-desired silence.

When he finally stopped, he waited for a response.  He didn’t deserve to come back as family but perhaps his father would grant him a position that would allow him to stay close until he earned the right to be called “son” again.

“…You seem a bit overqualified to be a mere lab assistant, don’t you think?” his father asked, clearly stalling.

Azmuth deflated, knowing the rejection was coming.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any positions open for an assistant anyway.”

“Sorry for wasting your time.  I’ll go then.”

He tried walking out of his father’s grip only for those fingers to cling to him as firmly as the other Galvan’s old and failing body could muster.

“I said I didn’t need an assistant.  I never said I didn’t want you back.”

Azmuth trembled with the effort it took to remain even remotely composed.

“What happened to you out there?”

The question brought everything to the forefront of his mind, and his knees gave out at the first keening cry that was wrenched from his throat.  He buried his face in his hands, weeping.

His father knelt down beside him to gently pry a hand of his face and wrap that arm around his shoulder.  The older Galvan grunted as he hauled them both to their feet before leading Azmuth back to his old bedroom, still precisely as he’d left it.  The sight of how his father had preserved everything he’d left behind despite the way he’d walked out on his family pulled another sob from him as the ability to speak coherently abandoned him.

Funny, he’d thought he’d run out of tears back on Xenon.

The older Galvan stroked his head and back as he curled up on the bed, trying to make himself as small as possible.  If only this were another childhood nightmare that his father’s soothing could dispel rather than the reality of his own terrible choices.  He coughed, hiccupped, and cried, feeling as though he were drowning.

Not once did his father leave him.

When the crying jag finally passed, leaving him lying numbly there, his father still didn’t go.  Instead, he continued the stroking and started humming an old Galvan lullaby that had coaxed Azmuth to sleep many, many times when he’d been young.

The younger Galvan laid there and listened, his breathing evening out, as the utter exhaustion from everything that had happened took hold.  He closed his eyes, feeling consciousness slipping away and welcoming the absence of dreams that came from being completely worn out.  At least he’d be spared the bad dreams that normally awaited him closing his eyes just this once.

With his last bit of wakefulness dissolving away, he heard his father's voice: “It’s going to be all right, son.  I promise.”

With his last scrap of consciousness, he fervently hoped so.


End file.
